5SOS Book of Imagines

CTH // Alive (2)

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"Congratulations for being alive."

I'm already in the car being driven home by my mother but his words still rung in my whole system.

Maybe it's his youth, his calm way of speaking, the kind that soothes you, not make you think you're 2. How he didn't look at me like a disgusting piece of trash. Maybe it's madness. I never encountered anyone like him. Not just as a doctor, but no one I knew ever thought like that. I knew they all judged me even when they said they don't. And their looks of sadness, like I'm this lost cause, like I'm hopeless. That's the hardest shit to take. The sad looks from older people like I'm this problem my mom now has.

I could easily dismiss the thought of him. He may be just one of those people, saying they want to help and know you but deep inside are just judging your mess of a life. I could just say he's like that, but I don't think he is. I just don't feel it. He...radiates of sincerity and peace and acceptance. I don't know how that is.

A few miserable days went on but he still regularly crosses my mind which was why I almost spat out my coffee when I saw him walk in to the coffee house I was in. I quickly hid my face in the book I was reading, looking out at the glass wall and trying to look inconspicuous.

I couldn't believe how young he looks without the white laboratory gown the doctors wear. He was wearing black shorts and a long sleeved gray shirt and running shoes with a journal on his hand and a Nike cap that he just took off. I know he's just in his twenties, but now he looks even younger.

When I heard the steps approaching me, I sort of already knew. The coffee house was small—the cozy type of small—so I figured he'd see me. I just didn't think he'd actually talk to me.

"Mind if I sit here?"

His deep, almost boyish, nasally voice reaches me. I readied my stony glare.

"Yes. Go away."

He takes the chair and sits anyway, and I raise my eyebrow.

"There are no other seats so the lady in the counter told me I can sit here."

I sighed, looking past him to Gretta at the counter; she smiled hopefully, as if asking for permission for me to let him sit. I rolled my eyes in surrender and let out a small smile at her. She beamed and went back to pouring coffee. I went back to reading and hiding myself from the guy now sitting across me.

"So you prefer tea over coffee. I prefer coffee, black." He said, opening his little leather bound journal and clicking his pen.

"This isn't the hospital. I'm not required to talk to you or vice versa. Don't bother me."

I saw him shrug at the corner of my eye. He took a sip of his coffee before crossing his legs and taking the journal onto his lap, and then started writing.

It was distracting. I don't even know at what part I am of the book I was reading. I couldn't see a word. I was focused on my peripheral vision, noticing the way his arm veins pop out from his arms. I notice little tattoos on the back of his palm by the thumb that I didn't notice at the hospital.

"I'm not bothering you. Stop staring." He said, his eyes still on his journal, hands still moving.

I quickly turn away, not realizing I was already staring. I feel blood rushing to my cheeks and I took a sip of my tea, going back to pretend reading.

A few more minutes, my heartbeat settled and nobody else talked. I went back to understanding the words on paper and comfortable in sipping my tea. The calmness of the coffee house crept back onto my system.

He stayed silent, just pausing and looking outside before writing again, occasionally sipping his coffee.

It was...nice.

No words. Only his presence, and somehow, that warmed me up more than the tea did.